


fly (fall)

by deadseasburntoutstars (snowontherooftops)



Series: homestuck character studies [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Hints of Ableism, Rated For Violence, a homestuck fanfiction? in 2017? how pathetic, boy that sure was fucked up, i am eternally bitter, i dont condone any of this, ive got a lot of emotions ok, leave me alone, remember when vriska fucking pushed tavros off a cliff?, tavros gets pushed off a goddamn cliff, vaguely suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowontherooftops/pseuds/deadseasburntoutstars
Summary: you wish you had wings.





	fly (fall)

AG: Fly, Pupa!!!!!!!!  
AG: Flyyyyyyyy!  
AG: Hahahahahahahaha!

* * *

 

The sky swirls sickeningly as your legs propel you off the cliff, or, as your body is taken control of by a certain girl with certain powers, whom, honestly, you should never have begun to associate with. This can only be your fault, because Vriska has a record, of sorts, or a reputation, as it were, for being unpredictable, and deadly, and you knew it.

This can only be your fault.

(you _trusted_ her)

You think briefly, of many things, of how much you're going to miss playing FLARP, because everyone knows that ghosts can't play games, and this will surely kill you,

(you thought that she trusted you)

And that even if you could, you don't think that you would want to, because all the magic would be gone, and the magic is what drags you out of your recuperacoon when the nights start blurring together and nothing matters, not even Tinkerbull, and Tinkerbull, oh god, what's going to happen to him?

(but you were wrong)

Who's going to look out for him when you're gone, because as much as you love him he wouldn't survive an hour in the wild without you there controlling the animals, and he's going to be so sad, but he'll get over it, hopefully, and get a new wriggler before the drones take notice of him, deem him useless and cull him.

(you were always wrong.)

You wonder if anyone will care that you're dead, or that Vriska killed you, other than Gamzee, who was sweet but honestly made you more than a little uncomfortable with his excessive and unwelcome advances, but you know that no one will, not really.

Your eyes find the sea, glimmering softly under the light of the two moons, and you think about your seadweller friends, and wonder if they can see you, what they're thinking if they are. Do they care that your life is ending? Do they feel anything besides disgust at how weak you are, or were, at how pathetic you must be to let your own friend, or whatever Vriska was, kill you? You're going to miss them, because ghosts don't have friends, and there is not a single doubt in your mind, you are going to die today, that is simply how things are. You wish you weren't, but what can you do? You don't want to die here, on a cold, lonely beach, with nothing but the stars and the hostile, imaginary stares of the seadwellers, your lusus and the girl who killed you your only accompaniment, because, as stated at least two times before, you are going to die. There is no other option, and maybe you don't there to be, because if you had to live with the fact that the girl you had considered your friend had thought you insignificant enough to kill, you'd go mad, you really would.

(how _could_ she)

This is honestly, less of a betrayal than nature taking it's due course, the strong killing the weak, and you are perhaps the weakest person you know, other than perhaps Gamzee, who could never hurt a fly. You wish you had wings, because if you did you wouldn't need friends, and if you didn't have friends they could never betray you, and it wouldn't even matter, because the air would be the only friend you need. But fairies are fakey fake bullshit, just like magic, and even if they were real you wouldn't be one, because there isn't anything special about you other than how incredibly not special you are.

(oh god oh god oh god you're going to fucking die)

The ground rushes up faster than you can scream, even if your throat wasn't locked in terror and emotions that you couldn't even begin to name

( _ohgodohgodohgod_ )

And you slam into it so hard that you blackout for a good few minutes. Your head aches and

( _oh god_ )

You think your legs are invisible? You lift your head up slowly, nearly crying out at the pain that rings through your ears and clouds over your vision. To your intense relief your legs are there, but you still can't feel them. You try to sit up

(oh god oh no please please please)

But your legs don't move at your commands. Dread washes through your veins like ice water, but colder, and sweatier.

( _no_ )

You wish that your legs would respond with every shred of willpower that exists in you, wishing on fairies and magic and myths, on things you know aren't real but you have to _try_ -

(your legs don't move)

(you wish you had died that day)

(would that not have been a kinder fate than this?)

(this _helplessness_ )

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> everything ends.


End file.
